Between brothers
by BHP
Summary: A regular Friday night goes spectacularly wrong for Don and Charlie. Just what can brotherly love make people do? Focuses mainly on Don and Charlie, but includes Alan and the team.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: All the usual disclaimers apply – I don't own the show or the characters, only the words on this page. This would take place anywhere in late season 2, but definitely after 'Mind games'. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.

**Between brothers  
****by BHP**

The elevator doors slid open and the words spilled out.

"No, see, you combine a reverse Steiner tree with a regression analysis of the second order variables, and then …"

"No, Charlie." Don's voice was tired, but he couldn't help but smile at his brother's confounded expression. He waved a hand at Charlie, stilling the unborn objections to his words. "I don't see. And let's be honest, here: I'm never going to see what you're trying to tell me."

He shook his head before Charlie could start explaining again. "And that's okay. I don't have to get it. You get it, and it works. That I do understand." He patted Charlie's shoulder and his smile grew. "And now that guy we arrested yesterday gets it too. He'll have a lifetime in prison to figure out exactly how you helped us catch him."

The parking lot stood almost empty in front of them, but Don swept it with his eyes anyway. Letting your guard down was always risky, especially when carrying a weapon. More importantly, letting anything slip when he had Charlie with him would be unforgivable. The lot was quiet, and Don could distantly hear the clanking of the exit gate, and the rumble of a car leaving. Most likely Megan, as she had left a few minutes ahead of him and Charlie.

The subdued hum of the lighting was the only other sound, but Don paused again, turning in a complete circle to survey the whole garage. A few Suburbans, a couple of agency sedans, a delivery truck half-full of bottles for water coolers, and a service van from the cleaning company that cleaned the FBI offices. Nothing out of place, no unusual sounds, no figures in the shadows where a few lights had burned out, and yet … something just felt wrong, felt off in some way.

Don had always been a believer in instinct, making the most of that particular talent in his baseball career. He'd always had an eye for a good ball to swing at. Apart from the low and outside pitches, his instincts had always steered him away from the bad balls too. Right now, his instincts were putting Irish banshees to shame, shrieking alarm in tones to bend metal, but he couldn't find a cause.

"Don. Hey, Don." Charlie's slightly worried voice split his attention. "Don, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Charlie." Don let his gaze linger around the garage one last time and then settled it back on Charlie's face. Charlie had paled a little and was nervously scrubbing a hand through his curls.

"You sure, Don?"

"Sure." Don put every ounce of certainty he could into his voice. "Just thought I heard something, or … Never mind, there's nothing to worry about."

Charlie's face cleared and his eyes smiled again. "Good. That look you just had … I have to say, it's a bit scary."

"What?" Don wasn't sure what Charlie meant. "What look?"

"Very intense, bro. All don't-mess-with-me, and very take charge. Take no prisoners."

"Seriously, Charlie? What on earth have you been watching on late night TV?" Don laughed at the thought. "Take no prisoners. That can't be right. My job is all about taking prisoners."

Charlie shook his head, and Don could see him marshalling arguments to explain himself. He knew what Charlie was talking about, and privately, he also referred to his instinctive earlier response as 'take no prisoners'. But he didn't see any reason to make Charlie worry, or worse, to give Charlie any more ammunition in his ongoing quest to understand Don's every motivation. So when in need, change the subject.

"Thanks, by the way."

"Sure. Um, for what?" Charlie's response was pleased, but puzzled.

"For coming in this afternoon. Making sure we had all the facts straight. Explaining that equation again. I really didn't want this guy to walk on some sort of technicality."

"Anything to help." Charlie laid a hand on Don's shoulder and gently shoved him towards the Suburban. "Now, are you going to take me home?"

"What's the rush, Chuck?"

"Don't call me that." Charlie's complaint was a matter of form, offset by a grin. "Well, it's five thirty. I've set up this new traffic tracking programme on my laptop, using GPS data, traffic reports, traffic signal timing patterns, and flow rate calculations," Don shook his head, but Charlie kept going, "and I think we can make it to my place by six thirty."

"An hour?" Don's laugh was incredulous. "Charlie, it's LA on a Friday afternoon!"

"I know." Don was sure he'd never seen Charlie look quite so smug. "Trust me, this will work." For a second, Charlie faltered. "It had better. He'll kill me if we're late."

"Who will?"

"Dad. I promised him we'd be there by six thirty."

"Are you nuts, Charlie? What possessed you?"

"Nothing. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Kind of, an added incentive to dinner."

"What's on the menu?" It had been a long week, and the thought of one of his dad's meals perked Don up.

"Lasagna."

"That recipe you said was actually worth digesting?"

"That's the one."

"Well, let's get moving then." Don headed for his Suburban, momentary unease banished.

A flick of the remote and he heard the quiet click of the locks opening. He pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the back seat, as Charlie dumped his jacket next to Don's and his bag on the floor behind the passenger seat. Charlie grabbed his laptop and then settled himself in the passenger seat, flipping open the lid of the computer and booting up his latest traffic programme. He shifted the computer around on his denim-clad knees while he waited for the programme to finish loading.

"You know, if I can perfect this programme, you guys could use it to get to crime scenes faster. Get through traffic and find suspects before they get such a big head start."

"So this isn't just to get you out of trouble with Dad?"

Don laughed at Charlie's innocent, wide-eyed expression and slid the key home in the ignition. His first inkling that his earlier unease might not have been misplaced was the dry click when he turned the ignition. The engine didn't even turn over, but the door locks flipped shut. Don pulled at the tab, but couldn't get the lock to shift. Then he tried the window controls, only to find them unresponsive as well.

"Charlie, try your door."

His only response was a barely audible hissing noise. He turned his head to look at Charlie, feeling strangely disconnected and uncoordinated, only to see Charlie slumped against the car door. His brother was staring at him, huge pleading brown eyes focussed on Don's face, fingers fumbling on the keys of the laptop. Then Charlie's eyes slid shut and his fingers went still, and Don could feel the darkness reaching out to drag him down as well.

00-01-11-10-00


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: See first chapter for notes and disclaimers

00-01-11-10-00

Alan was angry. He was also worried, although that was harder to admit. Charlie had promised faithfully that he and Don would be home for dinner. His youngest had also called just after five that afternoon, confirming that he and Don would be in Pasadena by six thirty. Alan had taken that to mean that nothing new had come up in either of his sons' busy lives, and he'd been looking forward to a nice quiet dinner. Maybe watch a game on television afterwards, or talk about how Charlie's new traffic tracking programme had worked. Now they were over an hour and a half late. And they hadn't called.

"I told him that programme wouldn't get them here in less than an hour." Alan's muttering kept him company, while his mind kept trying to drag him into darker interpretations of his boys' absence. Maybe they'd had a flat tyre. Maybe there'd been some sort of accident on the freeway. Maybe, maybe … oh, there could be hundreds of reasons why the boys were late. But somehow, he didn't think so. Parental instinct was telling him that something serious was wrong.

He paced the living room nervously, stopping twice in every circuit: once to look out the front window and once to check the front door. Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't even notice the way he kept tugging on the collar of his shirt, or checking the pocket of his jeans to make sure his cell phone was still there.

He stopped next to the telephone and tried calling Don's cell phone again, only to get the same out of service message he'd heard the last three times. That was highly unusual, which was one of the reasons that worry was starting to carry more weight than anger. Don was hardly ever truly out of contact, even when supposedly off-duty. Alan hung up and tried Charlie's number again. Another out of service message. He'd already tried Don's office twice, only to have the number ring out unanswered. Alan decided to try one last time, and carefully dialled Don's direct line at the office. Eight rings later, he was officially no longer angry. Then he heard a welcome voice.

"Agent Eppes' desk."

"Megan?"

"Hi, Mr. Eppes."

"I've told you before, it's Alan."

"Okay, then. What can I do for you, Alan?"

"I'm looking for Don and Charlie."

"Well, they're not here. I think they're gone for the day." A chuckle carried down the line. "I would be too, but I left this book here that I promised to lend to Larry." Megan paused, then went on. "I'm sure they said they were having dinner with you tonight. As a matter of fact, I think they left just after I did. They were gathering up Charlie's notes and laptop when I left."

"They were supposed to be here at six thirty, Megan. I've allowed for traffic, accidents, and I've tried to call them both, but I can't get hold of them. Either of them. That's not like them."

Alan's worry grew as he realised that Megan had no idea where Don and Charlie were either.

"Let me check on things here, Alan. Just in case something came up. I'll call you back soon."

Megan's words should have been reassuring, but all Alan really heard was her unspoken concern.

00-01-11-10-00

Megan bit her lip as she hung up the phone at Don's desk. She moved across from Don's cubicle to hers, quickly logging into her computer. Nervous energy had her tapping her fingers on the desk while she waited, the staccato sound loud in the almost empty floor. A few clicks of the mouse, and she scanned her new emails: no new cases, no urgent calls, and no new alerts on prisoners or parolees. "At least that's comforting."

She dug in her desk drawer for the book she'd promised to Larry, using the search as a distraction while she called in to the FBI control room and waited for a response.

"Control, this is Agent Reeves, requesting a location on Agent Eppes."

The answer caused Megan to frown as she ended the call. Deep in thought, she ran both hands through her hair, pulling it back before absent-mindedly letting it fall free again. Don had not called in to Control, and most worryingly, they couldn't ping the GPS chip in his cell phone. Although she hated to do it, especially after the week they'd all just lived through, Megan called David and then Colby. Neither man had any idea where the brothers were.

Megan sighed and pushed to her feet. One more place to check and she'd call Alan back. She caught the elevator down to the parking garage, foot tapping in a syncopated rhythm on the floor during the short ride. She stepped out and turned to the left, automatically heading to the spot where Don habitually parked his Suburban. A shiver ran through her when she saw the vehicle there, seemingly untouched. At least, that was how it seemed from a distance. When she got close enough to look through the windows, it was clear that the brothers had been in the vehicle at some point. Two discarded jackets lay on the back seat, Charlie's book bag was on the floor, and a laptop and two deactivated cell phones were discarded on the front seats.

Megan's fingers itched to open the door and take a closer look, but ingrained procedure won out. She flipped open her cell phone and called Forensics, taking a step back to look around the vehicle and around the rest of the parking level. Nothing seemed out of place. Then she stiffened her spine, and dialled another number. The answer was quick.

"Mr. Eppes, it's Megan Reeves."

"Megan." The quiet hope was almost enough to derail her, but she focused on the facts. "Their car's here. Along with their phones, Charlie's laptop, their jackets, and … all their stuff, I think. But they're not here. I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes."

"Now what, Megan? I'm sure something's wrong."

"Now," Megan took a deep breath, "I'm going back to the office to list them both as missing, and start a search."

00-01-11-10-00

Half an hour later, Megan headed back to her desk. She'd left the Suburban in the care of the Forensics team, along with an order to prioritise it above everything else. She knew it was probably too much to hope for, but still she wanted to see some sort of message waiting in the office: a demand, a threat, even some sort of gloating message from a seriously misguided miscreant. At least then she'd have somewhere to start. What she found was better.

"Hey, what are you two doing here?"

Two heads turned in unison, then shook at the same time.

"After you call, looking for Don and Charlie, where else would I be?" David's voice was warm and clear, with a hint of a rebuke.

"Same here. Don and Charlie don't just fall off the map." Colby was matter of fact. "So, where do we start?"

Megan could see from the jeans and t-shirts that both men had been at home, or out relaxing. But they hadn't said anything when she called them, and she knew they never would. And now they were looking to her to lead the way.

In that moment, Megan got a glimpse of what it was like to be Don, to have people look to you for leadership and a place to start. She was terrified; what if she got something wrong, missed something vital, and Don or Charlie suffered for it? How did Don do this every day, and make it seem so simple? Megan's admiration for her boss grew with every second, and she closed her eyes for a moment to summon an image of Don, calm and in control of the situation. Then she opened her eyes and took charge.

"Coffee. That's where we start. I've got a feeling this is going to be a very long night."

00-01-11-10-00

His first sensation was pain. A throbbing band of agony across the base of his skull, as though some sadist had placed his head in a vice and was slowly tightening the screws. Don bit back a whimper of pain as he cracked his eyelids open, searing white light stabbing in to join the existing pain at the back of his head. He gratefully shut his eyes again, that one glimpse having shown him that he was alone. There was something wrong with that thought, but his brain couldn't focus past the pain long enough to clarify the problem.

Now other sensations crept in. He was half-lying, half-sitting on a cold, hard floor. Instinct and experience suggested concrete and he flexed his right hand on the surface to confirm the assumption. He was unable to move his left arm, but he was sure that had more to do with the hard restraint he could feel around his wrist than any injury. Risking another quick glance showed that he was restrained with his own cuffs. He kept his eyes shut and tried to remember what had happened. How had he ended up here, wherever here was?

Concentrating on his surroundings, Don let the other sensations and sounds fill his senses. The air was cool, cool enough that he was already feeling slightly chilled. His golf shirt offered little protection, suggesting he'd be feeling much colder in the near future. There was a hum nearby, suggesting machines or something similar, but definitely something mechanical. The final sensations were physical and internal: intense nausea and thirst. Don did his best to ignore them both, sure they were related to the pounding headache. He didn't remember anyone knocking him over the head, so he was pretty sure that the headache had to be the result of some sort of knockout gas.

As his sluggish mind reached that conclusion, Don suddenly remembered everything: the door locks, the engine that wouldn't start, the hissing noise he'd heard – and Charlie, his eyes begging Don for help. That image was enough to pop Don's eyes wide open. How could he have forgotten that look? And more importantly right now, where was Charlie? Frantically looking around, Don calmed a little at the sight of his brother lying near him on the concrete floor.

"Charlie!" Don's yell had no effect, and he tried to move nearer to Charlie, reaching the extent of his handcuffs in one move. A glance to his left showed that he was securely cuffed to a narrow metal pipe, which appeared to be mounted directly into the solid wall. There was no chance of breaking the cuff or the pipe. Looking past Charlie, Don could see Charlie's right ankle was tied to another pipe, but with what appeared to be some sort of thin cord. Holding his breath, Don focused his senses exclusively on Charlie, only relaxing when he was sure that Charlie was breathing. He stretched out his right foot and pushed on Charlie's shoulder.

"Charlie. Wake up."

The lack of response was a worry, but Don could only hope that it was an effect of whatever they'd both been drugged with, and not something more serious. At least Charlie should be slightly warmer than he was, as his brother's usual dress code of t-shirt and long-sleeved overshirt meant he had a double layer of protection against the chilly air.

Firmly placing his worry behind his well-used mental wall, Don focused on taking in details of the room they occupied. He'd been right about the machinery, with most of the myriad pipes and wiring around them leading to large boilers and other machines, some of which Don recognised as being part of an air-conditioning system. Based on the size of the machines, a very large air-conditioning system. Above him, he could see metal walkways and more tanks and pipes. Possibly some sort of water storage system. In a sense, that was reassuring: the hum of active machinery meant that the building was currently in use, increasing their chances of being noticed. Also, the size of the room indicated the building was large and thus most likely still within the city limits of Los Angeles. And closer to help.

Don tried to look at his watch to find out how long he'd been unconscious, but aborted the movement when the cuff cut into his wrist. A quiet beeping noise, in the distance off to his left, caught his attention, mainly because it was the first time he'd heard that particular sound since waking. Then he heard the quiet thud of a door closing, and footsteps. Moments later, a man appeared from around the corner to Don's left. Obviously the way out could be found nearby. Another fact to file away for when he could make use of it.

The man wore a balaclava, dashing Don's hopes of recognising or later identifying their abductor. His clothing was a standard blue workman's overall, paired with common issue work boots. Any chance of fingerprint evidence was a non-starter too, as Don spotted the black leather gloves. The man stopped in front of Don and simply stared at him. Then he reached a hand around to the small of his back and pulled out a gun. Don recognised his own FBI-issue handgun. The man's thumb reached up to flick the safety catch off. Don swallowed heavily, and stared back. Until the man spoke, there was nothing Don could say to try to convince him to let the brothers go, and Don knew there was no way he could reach the man from where he was. He was helpless, and he hated the feeling. He was sure that Charlie never felt helpless; his brother was always so certain about things, so sure in his control of his world.

The gun was raised slightly. This wasn't how Don had pictured his life ending, and he only hoped that Charlie and his dad knew how much he loved them. He knew he didn't tell them as often as he should, but he was sure they had to know. Even when he and Charlie had been living what amounted to separate lives, they'd still been in touch through their parents. And he'd written letters over the years and put them aside in case things ended badly one day. He had to believe that those letters would be enough to underline his love.

The man aimed the gun directly at him, and Don knew there was no way a bullet would miss at that range. So he raised his chin in defiance and met the merciless blue gaze in silence.

00-01-11-10-00


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: See first chapter for notes and disclaimers

00-01-11-10-00

Megan sighed as she taped the two photographs to the glass board in the war room. She'd somehow never thought that she'd one day be investigating the disappearance of her boss and his brother. The photograph of Don was one she'd seen often before, in his file and on his FBI access card. The familiarity would have been comforting in any other situation. The photograph of Charlie shook her equilibrium. She'd never really paid attention to the photograph on his FBI visitor's pass, only ever really noticing the mass of curly hair. But now that she really looked at it, he seemed so much younger than his thirty years. Sometimes, the job really made her feel old and jaded.

Down the one side of the board she'd listed everything that needed to be checked or followed up on, starting with a heading for the forensic reports on Don's vehicle, and moving on to past cases, current cases, any threats made against either man, and a single question mark for anything else that might come to mind later. Possible details for a preliminary profile were percolating while she spoke.

"Okay. The first thing we need to know is who came into, or left, the parking garage around the time they left. David, could you check with building security for whatever footage there is from the entrance, exit and area cameras?"

As David nodded, Megan carried on. "Colby, check on Forensics. I spoke to a guy named Holland when I called for a team; chase him up for me. Anything he can tell you so far."

The two men left and Megan turned her now-unseeing gaze back to the two photographs and let her profiler's instincts take over. She snagged a whiteboard marker and started to make notes on the opposite side of the board.

Ten minutes later, her concentration was shattered by David's return. The tall man slammed into the room, looking as though he felt the need to damage something – anything – beyond repair. Given that he was usually so calm and patient, Megan knew there was something badly wrong. David's words confirmed it. "There's nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"What are you talking about – nothing?"

"The camera system had some sort of 'system glitch' today. From just after five this afternoon until just after six. So there's no coverage for whatever happened to them."

"Convenient. Too convenient, if you ask me. Any idea what caused it?"

"No. The techs are still looking. Outside of that one hour, everything seems to be operating perfectly."

Megan smiled at that. A picture was starting to form.

"So, we have a perp who's highly organised and well-prepared. Careful, too." She started ticking things off on her fingers, checking to make sure every point was also on the board. "Most likely male and in his twenties, I'd say. He'd have to be strong to take on two grown men, and extremely confident to do it here." She shook her head and met David's dark and angry gaze. "With any luck, overconfident. The invincibility of youth. Or supposed invincibility; at some point, he will make a mistake."

Megan's gaze moved past David, and he turned to see Colby heading towards them, carrying an envelope. Frustration was clear in his voice.

"Nothing so far. The only fingerprints on the doors and inside belong to Don and Charlie, or one of us. The only positive thing is that there are a number of smears over existing prints, suggesting our guy wore gloves. Which also implies that our guy may have touched other areas of the vehicle, so there may still be something else to find."

"No signs of blood?"

Colby shook his head and dropped into a chair. Megan actually managed a smile, small but real, at that last piece of good news.

"So. Two positive things. Someone definitely tampered with the car. And no blood means that they're probably both still alive. And most likely unhurt at the moment."

An appreciative grin flitted across Colby's face. "I told Holland to call me when has anything else." Colby slid the envelope across the table to Megan. "He said you asked for these."

Megan upended the envelope, tipping out a pile of photographs of the parking garage, covering every angle from Don's vehicle.

"I thought these might help. Every vehicle that was parked there when I first got there. Now that we know there's no camera footage, they're all we have. Although, without the cameras, I don't know how much help they'll be after all."

"Where's the footage?" Colby looked at David, who muttered, "Camera system glitch."

"Glitch? Yeah, right. And I was born yesterday." Colby was a master of sarcasm when the situation warranted it. Megan saw the moment his eyes lit on the photographs again and knew he had something in mind. "David, can you have them send all the footage for the entrances and exits to me? From four this afternoon till the system went down, and then from when it came back up until after Megan got there."

"Sure, but what's the point?"

"Think about it. Look for any vans or delivery vehicles, or SUVs like Don's, coming in, then look at which ones are still here. Eliminate those, and we're left with the possibilities we can work with and follow up on."

"Colby, that's a massive job."

"I'll do it." Colby was determined. "Look, until we get something more from Holland, or a demand comes in, there's nothing else to do. And we might turn up something useful."

Megan nodded and Colby headed towards his computer with alacrity. She hoped he found something they could use. David quickly called into the security room and requested the footage. As he finished his call, Megan turned to face him, and tapped the marker against her fingers.

"I've checked the recent alerts, and the updates on parolees. I'm not seeing anything that suggests someone with a grudge." She dropped the marker on the table. "But you worked with Don before I got here. Can you think of anyone who might go after him? And do we think anyone would be likely to be going after Charlie?"

David slowly shook his head. "No. I don't remember any specific threats of revenge, or anyone promising to get even." A momentary flash of humour lit his eyes. "And I really don't think it's likely to be about Charlie. Though working out the odds on that could be difficult, with our favourite mathematician missing." The humour fled. "But seriously, there was no way to be sure Charlie would be here today. His schedule here isn't regular. It's more likely to be Don they're after."

"Right." Megan wandered out of the war room and over to Don's desk, taking in the organised clutter and looking for anything out of place, something not quite right. A notation on the desk calendar caught her eye: Aaron Hamilton. The note was in Don's writing, in red ink, along with a time of 15:00 on Monday.

"David, have you got any idea what this is?" David looked over her shoulder and closed his eyes for a second in thought. Megan could see the concentration, and the moment that the information came to mind.

"Aaron Hamilton. Just before you joined us, Don arrested him for selling information. Hamilton worked for a defence research company; missile guidance systems, I think. He was selling the programming codes." David looked back at Megan. "Don's supposed to testify at his trial on Monday afternoon."

"Well, there's a motive. Maybe someone wants to derail the case."

"Okay, I can see that." David was sombre now. "But doesn't that work just as well with Don dead?"

00-01-11-10-00

Long seconds passed, and while Don was thankful he hadn't been shot yet, he couldn't figure out why the man was waiting and dragging things out. Then he saw the man tip his head slightly to one side and realised that the sharp squeak he could hear wasn't part of the endless noise that filled the room. Which meant that there was someone else nearby, someone not involved in the abduction. Don took a deep breath, determined to yell for help, no matter the consequences.

"I wouldn't." The gun swung away from Don to point directly at Charlie. Don bit back the urge to yell. Getting himself shot was a viable option, in his mind, as any noise that loud would attract the necessary attention to the situation. Getting Charlie shot, on the other hand, was never going to be an acceptable option. Or even an option at all.

Don waited until the squeaking faded into the distance and the gun was once again aimed at him.

"Who are you?"

Well, he hadn't really expected an answer to that question, but it had served as proof that speaking wasn't forbidden.

"Okay, then. What do you want from us?"

A jerk of the gun towards Charlie made Don flinch, but the toneless voice chilled him.

"From him, nothing. From you – we'll get to that. In due time."

Don twisted himself as far to his right as he could, ignoring how the cuff pulled on his wrist.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing."

"Then why isn't he awake?"

"The gas affects everyone differently. He'll wake up soon." The tone was clinical, but Don was sure he'd just heard a minute tremor. The man wasn't as sure of himself as he seemed, which was something useful to file away. He was also almost positive that their captor was young, younger than the mask made him appear. The bearing suggested youth, with its casual confidence and self-belief. Maybe that was something he could use to his advantage.

"Look, I don't know what you want, but if you let us go, maybe we can talk about it."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, no. I'm just saying, you know, that so far, you haven't done anything to hurt us." Aside from gassing us, Don added to himself. "If you let us go now, we can work something out."

The second's hesitation made Don even more sure that the man was young and most likely inexperienced in a life of crime. Any long-term criminal would have known that there was nothing Don could do to mitigate charges in a case like this. And he wasn't planning on offering any sort of deal to someone who'd hurt Charlie. That was just something that would never happen.

"It's too late for that. You need to do what I tell you."

"So, what's that then?"

A sudden beeping sound cut through the background, mechanical hum, and Don almost laughed out loud as he watched the man check the digital watch on his left wrist. The idea of having another appointment waiting – in the middle of a kidnapping – was just surreal. But life could be strange. The man put the safety back on the gun, and slid it back into the waistband at the back of his overalls, and gave Don one more hard look.

"I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere."

Don instinctively jerked at the phrase, the cuff pulling him up short. The man laughed. Then he turned and headed back down the corridor to Don's left, leaving Don nonplussed and close to hysterical giggling at the absurdity of it all. Then his gaze turned back to Charlie, and he bit hard on his lip to bolster his self-control. That insignificant spark of self-inflicted pain was enough to settle him and he steeled himself. He needed to be strong now: Charlie was stirring.

00-01-11-10-00

Colby felt like his eyes were about to cross or glaze over. They burned with strain as he stared at the images on the screen, skilfully manipulating the footage with spare, precise motions of his right hand. He'd got the process down cold now – check the incoming vehicle for size, colour, make and tags. After every ten or so, he'd flip over to exit footage and see what he could cross off his list. Then check the photographs to see which of the remaining vehicles had to have been in the garage when Don and Charlie disappeared. Thankfully, most of the cars that had come in were on tape leaving as well, and of the remaining vehicles, few were capable of concealing two unwilling occupants. Even though he didn't like the thought, Colby had also considered which vehicles were suitable for concealing unconscious victims. Most of the vehicles were FBI registered, and going on instinct alone, Colby had ignored all of those for the time being. Charlie running the odds on the remaining vehicles would have made the whole process quicker, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Grabbing his final choices, Colby headed for the war room. Megan was in there alone, cell phone to her ear as she fought some sort of polite war with the person on the other end of the line. Colby had seen that determined look before, and hoped never to have it aimed at him. As he slipped in the door, Colby heard the end of the call.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"What's up, Megan?" Megan's clear disgust prompted the question.

"That was the director. He heard what's happened and he wants to pull us off this; hand it over to another team. He says we're all too close to it."

Maybe they were. Who was he kidding? Of course they were too close to the case. But that changed nothing.

"You didn't agree, did you?"

"Of course not. We have until the morning. Then he's pulling us off regardless." Megan sighed and Colby wished he had better news to cheer her up. "So, what have you got?"

"Not much. Two contractors came in before the system went down, both driving SUVs. And the water delivery van came in, along with the cleaning service." Colby taped pictures of the vehicles to the board.

"The first two were gone by the time the system was back up. The security guard at the gate says the SUVs left around five thirty, which I think cuts it a little too close for our timeline."

Megan nodded and Colby taped up another photograph. "The water service truck could be involved, or the cleaning company, but … I'm just not feeling it. What reason would they have?"

"Which leaves us out of options."

"Unless it's an inside job, using an FBI vehicle. I've asked Control to track the GPS chips for me, see if any of them disappear or go somewhere out of the ordinary. If that doesn't pan out, we can check into the employees of the water and cleaning companies."

Colby's cell phone rang and he slipped away to answer it. He could see Megan glance over at where David was tapping away with manic energy at his computer. He pulled his attention back to the call, and felt a surge of hope at what he heard.

"Thanks. Can you send that to me now?" He turned to face Megan, and raised his voice slightly to get her attention.

"Megan." Colby's call had both his colleagues spinning round and heading over. "Forensics came through. Don's SUV was definitely tampered with."

"How?" David got in first.

"Holland's sending me the details, but the short version is: putting the key in the ignition locked the doors, sealed the vehicle and filled it with some sort of gas."

Megan looked back to her profile and grabbed a marker to add notes.

"So. Add in intelligent, obviously good with electronics, and possibly engines and mechanics. Maybe a car mechanic, some sort of engineer, or someone studying one of those fields."

"That's not cutting it down much." Colby sighed; he'd hoped for better.

"Not yet. But it'll help soon. I'm sure of it."

Megan's optimism was contagious, and Colby headed over to answer the ping of his email. And smiled for the first time since Megan's call.

"Guys, check this out." Colby printed the photograph and then waved the still-damp print as he headed over to tape it to the board.

"It's a tin." David's response was uninspired.

"What are we looking at?" Megan was cautious.

"This is the canister that was wired into the air system. And see this?" Colby tapped a logo at the bottom of the can. Megan squinted.

"That's what? An A and an S?"

"Yeah. Red and blue on a white background." Colby's smug tone caught David's attention and he raised an eyebrow in question.

"You bet. I've seen that logo before. On gas grenades in Afghanistan. This is the logo of a defence contractor, Air Solutions Inc."

David glanced at Megan and looked thoughtfully back at Don's calendar.

"A defence contractor?"

"I don't believe in that level of coincidence." Megan smiled too. With any luck, this was the first of the many small breaks that they needed.

00-01-11-10-00

Don heard the same distant beeping noise he'd heard before their abductor appeared the last time, and this time his aching head made the connection: wherever he and Charlie had been stashed had a door with a keypad lock. That wasn't good news. On the other hand, the vicious nausea that had dogged him since he'd woken finally seemed to be easing. Maybe Charlie had been lucky enough to miss most of that side effect. He turned his attention back to his brother.

Charlie had shifted slightly, enough that Don could see the unhealthy pallor of his skin. Don hoped that he looked better than that, although he'd admit to himself that he felt easily as bad as Charlie looked.

"Charlie." Don pitched his voice low, unwilling to take the chance that their captor might not actually have left them alone. The continual hum of machinery made it difficult to be sure.

A quiet moan proved Charlie had finally woken up. He shifted his head slightly, cracked open one eyelid and muttered, "Don? Where are you? What happened?"

Don's relief was immediate. Nothing worse had happened to Charlie than being gassed – as if that weren't bad enough – and Don could stop worrying that Charlie was badly injured.

"Yeah, buddy. I'm here. Just turn your head, okay?" Charlie looked towards his voice, and Don kept talking. "As for what happened, my best guess is that we were gassed."

"Protest marches are Dad's thing." Charlie's murmur was indignant and pained, redolent with disgust. "And he only got arrested."

"True." Don's chuckle slipped out. He was glad Charlie felt able to joke around. His headache had to be as bad as Don's. "Obviously, he's got better luck than us. Not to mention, we didn't even join a march or a sit-in, and look what happened to us."

Charlie managed a grin at that, and dragged himself upright, leaning against the wall. It was slow going with his hands tied behind his back, but he managed. Don waited until Charlie was settled.

"Charlie, can you get your hands free?" Aborted shoulder movements indicated Charlie's attempts, then the younger man shook his head slightly.

"No. I can feel something that could be the end of whatever I've been tied with, but I can't turn my hands enough to get a grip on it."

Don eyed Charlie's position, and suggested, "Move closer to me. As close as you can get."

Don moved as far as he could towards Charlie, stretching his left arm to the limit, while Charlie squirmed himself across the floor to meet him. Pulled up short by the tie around his ankle, Charlie came to a stop.

"Turn your back to me." Don kept his voice calm, knowing it would help Charlie stay focused. He reached out and found himself just two inches short of touching Charlie's wrists. At least he could see that the cord around Charlie's wrists matched the cord around his ankle.

"Charlie, can you lift your wrists up at all?"

"A little." A muffled grunt punctuated the effort, but Don found he was still an inch short of the necessary contact.

"Okay, just relax a second. I'm just going to see what I can do here."

"Fine. But whatever you're planning, could you be quick about it? My head's killing me."

"I know exactly how you feel." Don's sigh was heartfelt. Charlie went still, then he spoke again, hesitantly.

"Don, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Well, apart from the headache. The nausea's mainly worn off now."

"Nausea?" Charlie sounded puzzled.

"Guess you didn't get that side effect. Lucky you." Don sighed again. "I'm okay. Really."

"You sure?" Charlie's curls bounced as he struggled to turn his head enough to peer at Don over his shoulder. "You don't look so good to me."

"You should see yourself, Chuck."

"Don't –"

"I know, don't call you that."

"Yeah."

Don yanked hard on his left arm, hoping vainly to feel some give in the cuffs. He could feel the strain in his shoulder muscles, but ignored the slight pain. He'd ignore worse to make sure Charlie got away.

"Okay now, Charlie, just –"

Just as Don braced himself to pull against the cuff, he heard the now-recognisable muffled beeping sound. He quickly pulled away from Charlie, hissing out a quick command.

"Charlie, move away from me."

"What?"

"Don't argue. Quickly. Try not to talk to him. And whatever happens, don't antagonise him."

The quick inhalation told Don that Charlie realised who was coming. Then his brother shuffled away from him, and leaned back against the wall, half-turned to face where their captor's footsteps could be heard approaching.

"I told you I'd be back soon." The taunting voice floated ahead of the quiet footsteps. "Did you miss me?"

The man appeared around the corner, Don's weapon already in his hand. Charlie flinched and pressed himself more tightly against the wall, while Don focused all his attention on the man. At some point, he had to make a mistake and Don planned to be ready for the opportunity.

"Decided to join us at last, professor?" The question set Don's nerves jangling. He'd accepted the fact that this man wanted him, and he could think of many reasons to kidnap an FBI agent, but the fact that this guy knew who Charlie was: well, that was truly disturbing.

Charlie said nothing, just turned his head away, and Don felt like cheering. Charlie was doing exactly as Don had told him, and he could hope that would be a good thing in the long run. Keeping the abductor's attention focused on him would make Charlie a lesser target, or perhaps not even a target at all. The man took a step closer to Charlie, then turned back towards Don when Charlie remained still. He looked at Don for a few moments, before tightening his grip on the gun and raising it slightly.

"Now. Back to our conversation." Don refused to answer, staring disdainfully at the masked face.

"Do I need to remind you?" The gun moved in emphasis, and Don affected a bored tone.

"Don't strain yourself." Emotion flashed in the blue eyes and Don congratulated himself. He'd managed to provoke a reaction and draw the man's attention away from Charlie at the same time. A small advantage, but right now he'd take what he could get.

"Think you're clever, Fed?" The taunt was accompanied by a sharp move towards Don.

"Smarter than you."

"I'm not the one chained to the wall."

"No. You're the one who'll be hunted – actually you're probably already being hunted – by the FBI. And they won't give up until they arrest you."

"They'll never find me."

"That's what they all say. Right up until they're arrested and spend the rest of their miserable lives in prison."

Don's voice was clear and firm, and for the first time, the man seemed uncertain. Then the moment passed.

"That's not important right now. What matters is that you're going to agree to do what I tell you."

"Like I said, I'm smarter than you." Don was matter of fact. "We both know that's just not going to happen."

"Oh, I think it will. Especially since not doing something is exactly what I want you to do."

Don's mind took a second to puzzle that one out. He figured sarcasm was an appropriate response.

"Well, guess you got what you wanted then. I'm not doing much of anything right now."

The man ignored the tone completely.

"And that's all you need to do on Monday. Nothing."

Don couldn't imagine what Monday had to do with anything, and then he remembered the notation on his calendar, along with his mental note to wear a nice suit and tie.

"This is about the trial? Aaron Hamilton?"

The man nodded once and Don shook his head.

"That's just a formality. We've got him dead to rights."

"No." The denial was immediate. "Your testimony is what matters. It'll all fall apart if you testify that you were mistaken."

Don recognised the zeal of the true believer.

"I won't help you."

A booted foot lashed out unexpectedly, connecting solidly with Charlie's left leg. His cry of pain echoed briefly around Don, who shifted towards his brother.

"Leave him alone." Don tried to draw the man's attention back again, hoping to protect Charlie from further abuse. "You've got me, you don't need to keep him here."

The blue gaze settled on him and Don went on. "Let him go. He can't identify you. As long as you have me, I can't testify."

"That's not what I want. Don't you listen? Give me what I want, and you can both walk away. Refuse, and he'll suffer for it."

The man turned a cold look on Charlie.

"I can't do what you want. They'll know I'm lying."

"Then you'd better be convincing, or you'll be responsible for what happens to him."

Then the man casually checked his watch. "I've got to leave for a while, so you'll have some time to think about what I've said."

"Let him go." Don tried one more time. "You have me."

"I do." The man agreed. "But he controls you, so he stays." Then he looked down at Charlie, huddled against the wall, and shrugged. As he walked away, his voice carried back. "But don't push me. In the end, you're both expendable; him even more than you."

00-01-11-10-00


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: See first chapter for notes and disclaimers

00-01-11-10-00

The Hamilton case file was large and David had methodically taken it apart. He'd divided it into sections: witness statements, forensic audit reports, FBI agent statements, interrogation records, evidence lists and warrants, and personal background information on Hamilton. Now he was working his way through each collection, jogging his memory and hoping to spot something that would lead to a reason for Don's abduction. For behind that reason would be the person with the most to gain. The person most likely to be responsible for the abduction.

The going was slow, but if there was one thing David had learned from Don since he'd met the senior agent, it was perseverance. The ability and intention to stick to a task until it was done, and to find a solution through sheer force of will. He was sure that the answer was somewhere in this file. They had a case against a defence contractor employee going to court on Monday, and Don's SUV was sabotaged with gas manufactured by another defence contractor. He agreed with Megan that it was too coincidental not to be related.

He was so absorbed in his task that when his desk telephone rang, he jumped, sending one pile of information to the floor, pages scattering like snowflakes on the carpet tiles. He swore and grabbed the telephone.

"Sinclair."

The voice on the other end of the line was hesitant, but gained speed as David listened. He smiled, a cold, calculating smile that promised someone would feel his displeasure soon.

"Thanks. Email the specifics to me, please." He hung up the handset and turned to see Megan and Colby heading back to the war room, printouts in hand. He checked his email and quickly printed the newly arrived message and accompanying pages, then followed his partners. Maybe they'd finally managed to catch another small break. Now he had a feeling that they were once step closer to finding the brothers.

As he came through the door, David caught the satisfied look on Colby's face and took heart from it.

"I checked with a buddy from the military, Megan, and he told me that aside from all the usual markings on Air Solutions' munitions, there's a second serial number on every item."

"Oh, yeah? And what does that tell us?"

"That tells us what's in the canister. Or it should, but in this case, this number" and Colby tapped a printout of an impressively long number on the base of the canister, "isn't in the Army database."

"And how is that possibly helpful, Colby?" Megan was unimpressed.

"Well, it's helpful for one reason. If the number's not in the Army database, the contents of this canister aren't in use yet. Which means that it's still in development, and the only place to get the gas, is –"

"The contractor themselves." Megan cut in. "Where is Air Solutions based?"

"Place called Willowmill Office Park. About twenty minutes from here."

"Nice. So our guy must be a local boy."

"Definitely." David moved forward and taped a new pair of photographs to the board.

"This," he tapped the photograph of a small laptop computer, "was found in an unused storage room on the first floor. Nothing odd about that, except for the fact that the techs traced the interruption of the camera surveillance equipment to the network cable running through that room. So they printed the computer and found this guy. Timothy Williams." David pointed at the second photograph. The man was young, barely more than a teenager, with dirty blonde hair and clear blue eyes. A hint of a smile lurked on his lips.

"He doesn't look like a criminal." Colby tilted his head, considering.

"But his prints are on file." Megan spoke up. "So what did he do? And how recent is this?"

"It was taken about fourteen, fifteen months ago. And he hasn't committed any crimes." David paused. "At least, not until now. The prints and the photograph were part of the clearance process for his part-time job."

Megan raised an eyebrow, and David went on. "He's a full-time student, but he works weekends and the occasional night shift for a cleaning service."

He watched the light dawn in Megan's eyes.

"Bingo. He works for Ultimate Hygiene. Which just happens to be the company that cleans the FBI office. And a bunch of other government offices, and some related companies, like defence contractors."

"Does this company clean …"

Before Colby could finish the question, David nodded.

"Yeah. They do the cleaning for Air Solutions too. And for a company called Digital Controls as well."

"Who are Digital Controls?"

David smiled at Megan. "They produce missile guidance systems for the US military. It's the company where Aaron Hamilton used to work."

"Oh, nice. So what, someone doesn't want him to go to jail? Wants him back there to pass on more information?"

"That I don't know." David shook his head and tiredly rubbed his eyes. "But I'm going to keep digging into this guy's background. Maybe I can find a connection to Hamilton, or Digital Controls."

"In the meantime: Colby, have you got a contact number for the CEO of Air Solutions?" Megan headed for her desk, the two men following behind her.

"Yeah, sure."

"You and I are going to pay his office a visit. We need to know if someone from there's involved, and I think he needs to be there."

"It's a Friday night; he's not going to be happy."

Megan's smile was cold.

"Well, his happiness isn't exactly high on my list of priorities right now."

"Okay." Colby grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, the movement spinning the chair round. He waved a hand at David as he and Megan headed for the elevator.

David considered another cup of coffee, weighing the effects of the tar-like substance waiting in the break room against the boost he'd get from the caffeine. Deciding caffeine was more necessary at the moment, he detoured through the break room and poured a cup of a substance that pretended to be coffee. Then he headed back to his own desk, glancing at the photographs of Don and Charlie on the war room board as he passed by the door. Somehow, he just couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out.

00-01-11-10-00

Don knew they were running out of time. He and Charlie were at the mercy of someone who was operating without a plan and not thinking logically. That combination could only end badly. If it had to end badly, he would rather know that he had tried everything possible to change the outcome. Mostly, he needed to know that he'd done everything he could to get Charlie out of this.

He waited a full minute, counting the seconds in his head, after the beeping sounds he'd come to associate with the door had faded. Then he shifted towards Charlie, as far and fast as he could manage, until his left arm was stretched to its limit.

"Charlie."

Charlie's head turned and he glanced awkwardly at Don.

"Move towards me. Quickly, as far as you can."

Charlie wasted no time, shifting to the full extent of the cord that tethered his right leg to the wall.

"What now?"

"Now you let me figure out a way to get you free."

Don stretched out his hand, finding himself that same taunting inch short as the last time.

"Then you find a way out of here, and go."

"No."

Charlie was shaking his head before Don had even finished getting the words out. "I'm not leaving you here with him."

"Charlie, there's no other choice."

"There's always another choice, Don. I can't do that. Please don't ask me to."

Charlie's words spilled out so fast Don almost had trouble tracking them.

"Look, just think about it logically for a second." Don hissed as the cuff tugged deeper into his left wrist, but he ignored the sting that suggested he'd broken the skin. He'd just managed to touch Charlie's fingers. Just a half inch more would be enough. He went back to his argument, knowing that the only way to get Charlie to do something he didn't want to do, was by convincing him that it was the only logical, rational thing to do.

"Point form, Charlie. One, this guy's inexperienced, most likely young. Two, he doesn't know what to do next, now that I've refused to do what he wants. Three, he's got my gun and he looks nervous enough to fire it accidentally. Four, I'm cuffed to the wall here, with my own cuffs, and I know you can't break them."

"When I said logic and rationality were tools, I didn't mean you should use them against me."

Charlie's mutter put Don in mind of a child who'd been denied a favourite toy.

"Five, this building's large and obviously currently occupied, so finding a phone shouldn't be that difficult. And six, you'll have to go alone because I've already pointed out why I can't go with you."

"I hate you, you know." Charlie's mutter was clear.

"Yeah, yeah. I hate you too." Don grinned at the back of Charlie's head. "Now, when I get you free, promise me you'll leave."

"Okay. But I want this clear, I'm only going under protest."

"I'll make a note." Don was dry.

Pulling on his arm again, Don could feel the strain in his shoulder. That made him think about something Billy Cooper had told him about a fugitive he'd once tracked. The guy kept finding ways to escape when handcuffed, and Coop had finally caught the guy in the act. Only to find that the source of his ability to escape was the sheer stubbornness needed to dislocate his own shoulder to provide extra room to move and pick the lock on the cuffs. Picking his cuffs wasn't an option for Don, but the extra distance would get him to Charlie.

Don had never asked for specifics, but Coop had provided them anyway. The angle of the bones in the shoulder joint was important, as well as the need for a sudden, sharp and very hard tug. Don hadn't wanted to hear more than that, but he figured he'd be able to work anything else out for himself. After all, it wasn't rocket science, or even mathematics.

Smiling at his own private joke, Don did his best to relax the muscles in his left shoulder. He was pretty sure this was going to hurt a bit – to put it mildly. He took a deep breath, braced the rubber soles of his shoes against the concrete floor, and shoved himself towards Charlie as hard as he could. He felt the strain, and then he felt something shift, deep in the joint. For one moment of pure clarity, he realised that he'd managed it. Then the moment passed, and red-hot pain rushed in to take its place. He wasn't even aware of his own yell of pain until he heard Charlie's frantic voice.

"Don. Don, come on! Talk to me! What's wrong?"

Don gasped a few heaving breaths as he struggled to ignore the pain. How had that fugitive of Coop's managed to do this on a regular basis? Finally, gaining a small measure of control, he reached out his right hand and held Charlie's fingers.

"Nothing's wrong, Charlie."

"That didn't sound like nothing."

"Hold your hands up a bit, Charlie."

Don moved to work on the knotted cord, glad that his radical plan had provided him with the necessary reach. Seconds later, even working one-handed, Charlie's hands were free, and the younger man scrabbled for the cord around his ankle. As he untied the line and cast it aside, Don shifted back towards the pipe, lessening the pull on the cuffs. If he got close enough, maybe Charlie wouldn't see the full extent of what he'd done. But his reaction time was too slow, or Charlie's was too fast.

"Don. What's wrong with your shoulder? What did you do?"

"What I had to." Don bit back a moan as he leaned against the wall. "Now go."

"I can't, Don. Not now."

"You promised, buddy. Go." Don was implacable.

"But you didn't tell me you were planning this." Charlie pointed an accusing finger at Don's shoulder. "I don't think you can hold me to a promise made under false pretences."

"Maybe, maybe not." Don had one more weapon to use, and ignored the guilt he felt at how he was about to manipulate his baby brother.

"But I can't go. You can. Do you want someone to tell Dad that you had a chance to get away, get help for me, for both of us, and wouldn't take it?"

Charlie stared at him for a moment, face expressionless. Then he spoke quietly and Don knew that he'd won the battle.

"That's low."

"I'll give you that. But it's also true, Charlie." Don shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn't make his shoulder throb. "So please, for me. Just go. Now."

When Charlie finally turned and moved away down the corridor their abductor had used, Don let his head fall back against the wall. His shoulder felt like someone was stabbing a hot poker through it with the regularity of a metronome, drowning out the stinging sensation in his left wrist, where the cuts from the handcuff were sluggishly oozing blood. But all of that was something he could cope with, as long as Charlie was free and on his way to safety. He let his mind drift, thinking about how he should have been spending his evening. Lasagna, his dad and Charlie round the dinner table, maybe some Scrabble or a game on the television. Instead, he was sitting on a cold concrete floor, contemplating how everything could change so radically in just a few minutes.

He'd given up trying to keep track of time, being unable to see his watch, so sudden footsteps to his right – instead of his left – had him jerking before he remembered his shoulder. He cut off the involuntary moan when he recognised Charlie's voice, a frantic half-whisper.

"Don."

"Charlie, what are you doing back here?" His anger seeped into the words and Charlie raised a placating hand.

"I'm not trying to be difficult. And I'm not going back on my promise. It's just … there's only one door out of here. And it's got a keypad combination lock. You know, the kind where you key in the code, four digits or more."

"I was afraid of that." Don sighed. "I thought I kept hearing beeping. Is there any way you can get round it?"

"Sure. If I had a computer, and a whole lot more time. If it's a four digit code, there are at least –"

"Not now, Charlie." Don cut him off, eager not to get into a long explanation of how many million combinations were possible. He already knew that it was too many for Charlie to try them all, which was the only fact that mattered at the moment.

"Okay. But I did bring this." Charlie waved a short length of metal, a thin strip with a flattened edge.

"What's that?"

"Looks like a strip from a door edge, or something similar. I'm not really sure. I was hoping …" and Charlie moved to tuck the narrow end into the metal bracelet around the wall pipe. He gave a solid yank, adjusting his grip to provide more leverage when nothing happened. Another yank failed. "Like I was saying, I was hoping that I could use it to break the lock open."

Don shook his head. He really loved the fact that Charlie just wouldn't give up on a problem, but this effort was doomed to failure.

"Charlie, it's not going to work. Those cuffs are designed to withstand any attempt to do exactly what you're trying to do."

Charlie dropped cross-legged to the floor in front of Don and hung his head. Then he took a deep breath and ran both hands through his curls.

"Okay, big brother. Now what?"

Don reached out and picked the strip up off the concrete floor. It was thin, but strong, and had a good sharp point. Not much of a weapon, perhaps, but better than nothing.

"Are there more of these?"

"A few. But all much longer than that one."

"Is there anywhere near the door that you can hide? Which way does it open?"

"Um, well, it opens … away from us, if you know what I mean. The hinges are closer to us than the keypad."

"Good. That's really good."

"A place to hide – not really. But there's a couple of floor-to-ceiling pipes right there, and some sort of equipment or utility box bolted to the floor next to them."

"Anything useful in it?"

"It's locked."

"Figures." Don sighed, then wondered, "Can you get behind that and still see the door?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Don ran over the plan in his head, and nodded slightly. Note to self, he thought, don't nod. Who knew nodding would make his shoulder hurt?

"Okay, then, here's what you do. Find the rest of these," Don waved the strip, "and see if one of them is long enough to reach the door, with you still behind that box. Then you get out of sight and wait. When he comes back, he'll head here, away from you. Use the strip to keep the door from closing all the way, then get out while he's here with me."

Don couldn't quite read the expression on Charlie's face, and didn't have the energy to decipher it right then. He was pretty sure there was an argument of some sort buried in that look, but he didn't have the energy to fight with his brother right now.

"Oh, and leave me this one. I've got plans for my new friend." And Don slid the strip of metal behind his outstretched right leg, hiding it from view.

That almost sparked a grin, before worry filled Charlie's face again. He reached out to pat Don's knee, then rose and walked away, the tension in his back showing just how much he hated what he was doing. Then Don was alone again, waiting for his captor's return.

00-01-11-10-00


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: See first chapter for notes and disclaimers

00-01-11-10-00

Colby whistled quietly as he and Megan arrived at Willowmill Office Park. Even after dark, it was a beautiful place. The buildings were all high-tech looking, lots of sleek steel and acres of glass. Carefully designed lighting picked each building out of the darkness, reflections from the glass creating pools of glowing brilliance. An air of studious intelligence seemed to linger in the air, but Colby thought that could very well be nothing more than a figment of his overtired brain.

There were six buildings, all less than eight stories, placed with an almost geometric precision around what appeared to be a perfectly circular fountain and lake, situated in the centre of the largest circular traffic island Colby had ever seen. He knew he'd never have picked up on the geometry before meeting Charlie, and knowing what he'd learned from Charlie somehow made the sight before him more beautiful. That reminder of why they were there wiped the slight smile from his face. But the words came anyway, betraying the direction of his thoughts.

"Looks a bit like a higher-tech version of CalSci."

"You got that feeling too?"

Megan glanced across at Colby as she guided the car to the third building on the right. "We should bring Charlie here sometime. Can't you just hear him going on about the math behind the design?"

"You know," Colby couldn't help the laugh, "I was just thinking that I would never even have noticed that before."

"I know exactly what you mean." Megan parked the car, and took a moment to observe the building. Then she and Colby headed towards the building's open door.

The reception lobby echoed the whole office park: full of clean, sharp lines in steel and glass. The security guard at the desk was waiting for them, sign-in sheet in hand. Colby flipped his badge out and held it up, as Megan spoke.

"FBI. We're here to see Paul Harris."

"Mr. Harris isn't available. He left hours ago."

"We called ahead." Colby was blunt.

"I don't know what else to tell you."

The elevator doors to the right of the desk slid open and a voice cut in.

"It's okay, Bert. I'm expecting them."

Colby and Megan turned to see an older man step out of the elevator. Colby automatically filed a description in his mental notebook: tall, fit, brown hair silvering at the temples, serious brown eyes, sharp nose, high cheekbones, casual but expensive clothes. He could see Megan give the man a keen glance as well, and wondered what her profiling talents were making of the man. Colby knew that he could sometimes figure out why people did what they did, once he had all the facts, but the level of insight Megan could show based on a few minor clues always amazed him.

"Mr. Harris. I'm Megan Reeves, FBI."

"Agent Reeves. You said the matter was urgent."

"Yes. Could we talk somewhere …"

"More private?" Harris smiled, and Colby and Megan followed him back to the elevator, where he hit the button for the fourth floor.

"Not the top floor?" Colby found that unusual. Most CEOs were keen to show off their status, and put the rest of the employees in their place.

"No, Agent?"

"Granger." Harris nodded.

"Agent Granger. The top floors are lab space, research offices and so on."

Harris smiled warmly as they exited the elevator and headed down the corridor to a door in the middle of a row of nondescript doors. Colby glanced at Megan and caught her slight nod. He would continue asking questions and let Megan observe Harris until she had what she wanted. Or until Harris made sort of slip-up or admission that would help them find Don and Charlie. They followed Harris into a moderately-sized office, and Colby raised an eyebrow at the unassuming furnishings.

"No again, Agent Granger." Harris smiled again. "I don't have the typical corner office, or the lavish lifestyle. We use the corners of the building for meeting rooms, the canteen, things like that. My staff work very hard, and they deserve a simple perk like a nice view. What we do here isn't about fame or money. We're here to make sure our troops have weapons that keep them safe. Our job is to protect American lives."

"As ex-Army, I do appreciate that." Colby nodded. "But that's also why we're here."

Megan pulled out a photograph of the canister and passed it to Harris. Colby handled the commentary on the photograph.

"I'm sure you recognise the design." As Harris nodded, Colby continued. "That particular canister was found today at a crime scene."

At that, Harris' head shot up, eyes concerned.

"But how? It's not in production." He tapped the serial number visible in the photograph. "This is a test series number. If I recall correctly, bear with me a moment …"

He crossed the room and pulled open the door to what seemed to be a wooden cupboard, only to reveal a concealed filing cabinet. Catching Colby's bemused look, Harris chuckled.

"Sorry, I'm a little old school. I have all the records and tests on my computer, but I like to have a hard copy of the overview file for every project underway as well. You never know." He shrugged, and flipped through a few of the hanging files, then stopped and double-checked the serial number.

"I thought so. This was a gas project, aiming to develop a new knock-out gas." He pulled the file out and read the top page. "We pulled this project six months ago."

"Why was that?"

"Agent Granger, I don't know how much you know about how we develop our weapons."

"Not much."

"Well, if we can't reach what we consider an acceptable level of risk for our people, I kill the project."

"And exactly what does that mean, in this case?"

"We couldn't minimise the side effects of this gas. It's not lethal, thankfully. But it is odourless, so our troops would have no warning of a leak. Also, if released in a contained space, the side effects include severe nausea and migraine-level headaches."

"A contained space? Would that include the interior of a vehicle?" Colby could only imagine how the missing brothers had to be feeling. Those side effects sounded vicious to him.

"Definitely." Then Harris shook his head and flipped another page in the file. "But it shouldn't even be possible. All of the gas was scheduled for destruction two weeks ago. And the computer records would have alerted us if any of the canisters weren't incinerated."

"Not if your computer records were tampered with." Megan's quiet observation drew Harris' attention.

"Tampered with? Should I be looking at all my people?"

"Most likely not. But you might want to take a look at your security protocols for the operation of outside companies in your offices; we believe that your thief is very good with computers, and may work for one of those companies."

"Agent Granger, you mentioned a vehicle? Was this gas used on someone?"

"We have two people missing." Colby nodded. Harris looked horrified and offered, "If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to call me. Here's my number," he handed over a business card, "and I do mean it: call me, any time. And please, could you let me know if they're alright, when you find them?"

Colby and Megan both nodded, then Megan offered her hand to Paul Harris.

"We'll do that. And thank you for your time."

Ten minutes later, they were on the road back to the FBI office.

"My gut feeling is that he was playing it straight." Megan sighed, and absently ran a hand through her hair. "So, our guy worked alone. And he's smart, so why do something as stupid as kidnapping someone in the FBI building?"

"Desperate?" Colby offered, then couldn't help himself. "Desperately stupid?"

Megan actually smiled at that and Colby was about to follow it up with another joke when his phone rang.

"Granger."

As he listened, Colby felt the excitement start to build. He checked their location and looked at the light traffic around them, then answered David's question.

"We'll be there in about fifteen minutes. We'll meet you in the lobby."

He ended the call and turned to look at Megan.

"David's got something on our guy, and a possible location to check."

Megan's smile matched Colby's determined look.

"Let's hope it pans out. After what Harris just said about side effects, I'm thinking the sooner we find them, the better."

00-01-11-10-00

David had struck it lucky in his background check into Timothy Williams. He'd taken a chance that he'd find someone at the listed number for Ultimate Hygiene, given that the company cleaned a number of buildings after office hours. And for once, the universe had smiled on his efforts. The owner of the company, Carlos de Almeida, had answered the call himself. He'd been more than willing to answer any questions David had, after David had offered his name and badge number as proof that he was indeed from the FBI.

"I'm interested in whatever you can tell me about Timothy Williams."

"Oh, Tim. Good boy, very hard worker. Here and at school."

"You sound like you know him very well, Mr. de Almeida."

"Carlos, call me Carlos. And yes, I do know him well. He often visits us for dinner, and he is in many of the same classes as my Jorge."

"Jorge?" David's interest grew.

"Yes, my son. That is how we met Tim, through UCLA. My son is studying computers there – don't ask me what they do in those classes. Basic bookkeeping is about all I can manage on my computer."

"So, your son met Tim in class." David tried to get the conversation back on track, thinking privately that he agreed. He never understood much more than the analogies that went along with Charlie's computer models and algorithms.

"They did some sort of project together. I didn't really understand it all, but they did very well. When Jorge told me that Tim was alone, I told him he should bring his friend to dinner. Now he's at the house often."

"Tim is alone? What do you mean?"

"Jorge says Tim never knew his father, that his mother raised him alone. Then, about eighteen months ago, Tim's mother died. Just before he and Jorge met in class."

"So who keeps an eye on Tim now?"

"No-one. He's over eighteen, and his mother left him enough money to pay rent and college fees."

"That was lucky." David didn't believe in that kind of luck, especially when most single mothers scraped by from month to month. Certainly, no-one from the neighbourhood where he grew up would be that lucky.

"Maybe." Carlos sounded less than enthusiastic. "What good is money without family?"

"True." David agreed, just to keep the man talking.

"But still, I got the feeling that there is no money to spare. Which is why I suggested that he work for me. Jorge has always helped out, but I put him on the payroll, with regular shifts, when he went to college. You know, so that he had money of his own, and an adult responsibility."

"And Timothy Williams?" David was hanging on to his patience by his fingernails.

"Well, without any family – poor child – I thought I would do what I could. Like for my Jorge."

"That's very nice of you, sir." David waited a second, then spoke again when Carlos didn't immediately fill the pause.

"So, could you perhaps tell me where I could find Timothy right now?"

"Well, he must be at home." David could hear Carlos flipping papers. "He was supposed to work tonight, but he called to say he was ill. Jorge says he was not in class today either. I will go around to see him tomorrow."

"In the meantime, sir, could you perhaps give me his address?"

David quickly scribbled down the address, before ending the conversation. He was just about to call Megan when he heard the chime from his computer. Public records were wonderfully useful, but time consuming to access and search. Which was why he'd set his search into Timothy Williams' family background to run automatically while he'd been on the telephone. Reading over the results, he confirmed that Carlos de Almeida had been telling the truth that Timothy's mother had died just over eighteen months earlier, in a car accident. But there was something interesting about her background: she and Timothy didn't share a surname. A quick scan of the file showed that Timothy's father had left Melissa Hamilton when Timothy was two years old, and hadn't been heard from in the twenty years since. David shook his head, and made a mental note to call everyone in his family as soon as they'd found Don and Charlie. He tried to call regularly, keep in touch, but he'd put in even more effort in future; family was too important not to keep close to your heart.

He was about to close the file when his eyes slipped back to the information about Timothy's mother. Hamilton. A common enough name. Another coincidence, or something more? He clicked through to the DMV for her licence photo and realised that he'd seen her face before. The picture was more recent, but she looked remarkably like the woman in the family photographs in Aaron Hamilton's file. He was on the phone in seconds, deciding to call Colby rather than Megan in case the two of them were on the road. After speaking to Colby, he gathered up the relevant information, along with Timothy Williams' address and headed downstairs to meet Colby and Megan.

00-01-11-10-00

Charlie hated leaving Don alone again. Especially when he could see how much pain Don was in, with what looked to Charlie like a dislocated shoulder. His mind shied away from the idea of inflicting that sort of pain on himself. He'd always known that his brother had the strength to do what was needed – after all, Don had been the one who coped with everything when their mom had been ill. But this was more than Charlie could wrap his mind around.

If he hadn't understood why his brother had done that to himself, he'd have been furious at Don. Okay, he understood – he'd be willing to do just about anything to help Don too – but he was still furious. And he was planning to say something about Don's lack of regard for his own health, just as soon as they were out of this situation and safely back at Charlie's house. Because there was no way he was letting Don stay at his own apartment, alone and injured.

Charlie couldn't help but laugh at himself: the situation they were in looked hopeless, but Don had a plan. Don always had a plan, and just because of that, Charlie knew everything would be fine. Some might call him an optimist, or accuse him of blind faith, but in all his life, Don had never truly let Charlie down. Charlie knew Don wouldn't let him down now. Charlie had long since calculated those odds, and he'd lay good money on Don every time. After all, it wasn't gambling if you bet on a sure thing.

Although he knew it was a bad idea, he headed for the door again and stood right in front of it, staring at the keypad. He knew how many possible combinations there could be, for a four, five or six digit pass code. He also knew which numbers were most commonly used. And while he could see the expressions he could use to find the right answers – they laid themselves out on the chalkboard in his mind at the smallest invitation – he was pretty sure that he didn't have the time to run the numbers.

Charlie headed past the door and around a slight curve in the corridor. Finding the pile of metal strips right where he remembered them being. He looked for the longest one, and picked it up. He sighed, "Not long enough."

He'd need a strip at least twice as long as this one to reach the door without being seen. Knowing time had to be running out, Charlie grabbed the three longest strips and headed back to the door.

Once he had the door in sight, he settled himself behind the utility box and gauged the distance to the door. Two of the strips, end to end, would be long enough. He needed a way to attach them to each other. A frantic search through his trouser pockets yielded a handkerchief and one elastic band, a few quarters and the crumpled wrapper from a chocolate bar. He wished he had his jacket, mentally chiding himself for taking it off before getting in the Suburban. He was feeling the chill, sure, and the jacket would have been a welcome barrier to the cold. He could only imagine how much colder Don was feeling. But mostly, he really wished he had his jacket because he knew he had a ball of elastic bands in one of the pockets. He'd been planning to use it to make a point in a lecture on Monday.

"Think Charlie. What would Don do?" Talking to himself, even in a whisper, helped to take his mind off how he felt about things. He hated feeling like he wasn't in control of the situation; he was sure his brother never felt that way. "Don would find another way. He always does."

Shifting slightly, Charlie realised that the gap between the floor-to-ceiling pipes and the wall was wide enough to slide the strips through, while still keeping an eye on the door. And if he used that gap, it would keep the strip out of sight against the wall, and allow him to stay better hidden behind the box.

His left leg ached from where the abductor's kick had landed, and Charlie stretched it out in front of him, kneading the aching spot. His eyes strayed to his new white sneakers, and he remembered that Don had also been wearing sneakers today. That was unusual for his brother at work, but everyone had been low-key and casual today. The relaxation that came with knowing the team was off the call rotation for one weekend had made everyone a little mellow.

Then Charlie's mind suddenly clicked into gear, and urgent fingers scrabbled at both his shoes, pulling the laces from their holes. He laid two strips on the floor, checked the length to make sure they would reach past the edge of the doorframe, and then laid the third strip alongside them. He tied the strips together with his shoelaces, creating one long piece of metal. It wasn't all that sturdy, but if he slid it along the floor, that would be irrelevant. Then he remembered the handkerchief and the elastic band. Digging both out of his pocket again, he wrapped the end of the long implement in the material, and secured it with the elastic band. Now there was less chance of making a noise that could alert the kidnapper to Charlie's actions when he returned.

He pulled himself into a huddle behind the utility box, making sure he'd tucked his feet out of sight. Then he slid his potential escape tool along the wall until the end rested a mere two inches from the edge of the door. As prepared as he could be, Charlie settled in to wait.

Not ten minutes later, he heard a scraping noise outside the door, followed by the quiet beeping. A five-digit code, then a loud click and the door slowly swung open. Charlie bit his lip and tightened his hold on the steel strip. The man stepped through the door without even glancing at the area where Charlie was hidden, and moved off towards Don, hand reaching for the gun at the small of his back. Charlie tore his attention from that worrying sight, and gingerly slid the metal strip forward. The end hooked slightly on the door frame and refused to move.

Charlie cringed, then jiggled the stick slightly. It slid past the doorframe and into open space, just as the door slowly swung closed, stopping the door from sealing shut. Charlie took a deep breath and eased himself out from behind the box and quietly covered the few feet to the door. He laid a hand on the door and eased it further open. When nothing happened, no other voices called out, he opened the door far enough to slip through. He looked down and considered the strips, then leaned down to pick the jerry-rigged length up. Who knew, it might be useful again before this was over. And it would be better if he left no clues as to how he'd escaped.

"Where is he?" The sudden yell made Charlie jerk, and he realised that his disappearance had been noticed. He couldn't hear Don's answer, but the sound of something hitting flesh was clear. Charlie was torn. That man was hurting Don, and Charlie was the reason. He wanted to go back and help his brother, but Don had been clear that Charlie was to get away and get help. Don was the one with experience in situations like this, and Charlie trusted Don's instincts. So he turned his back on what he felt, and did what he had to. What he'd promised to do. The door swung shut behind him.

Well, the lights were on in the corridor, proving Don's assertion was right: the building was in use. Charlie mentally flipped a coin and headed to his right. He stuck close to the wall and tried to walk quietly, careful not to knock his wobbly metal pole against anything. Reaching a corner, he looked both ways, spirits rising when he saw an elevator off to the left. He headed that way, and was about to push the call button when a voice in his head – sounding suspiciously like Don – spoke up. _Are you sure that's a good idea, Chuck? What if he's got a partner?_

Pulling his hand back as if burned, Charlie looked around. Not ten feet away he saw a door to the stairwell. At least, using those, he'd have a chance to run if he needed to escape again. Thanks to his love of hiking, the thought of a few flights of stairs didn't worry him in the least. He eased the door open and peered in. No sign of anyone. He slipped into the stairwell and let the door close gently behind him. He took a good look at the bar across the door, the kind so often used on emergency exits. Depress the bar and the door would open. It wouldn't help much, but blocking the door would make him feel safer. So he untied the shoelaces around the three strips of metal, then aligned all three into a single uniform length and tied them back together. He wrapped the handkerchief around the combined end in hopes of a better grip on the concrete and propped the upper end under the bar. A gentle tug showed his impromptu lock was holding for now.

As he turned away from the door, Charlie noted the number stencilled in the top left corner – B3. It implied that he was in the third basement, which meant that help was three floors up, less than ten minutes away from him. Even moving slowly and quietly. There had to be a telephone he could use to call Megan. Or David, or Colby, or even his dad. Although his dad wouldn't be his first choice; not until he had Don back with him as well. Five minutes later, Charlie stood before another door, this one labelled 'Ground'. Hesitant to take that final step. What if the kidnapper had partners waiting here? Charlie thought about Don, about what could be happening to his brother, and reached out to open the door. Whatever happened next, he'd done what he could.

The door swung open silently, and Charlie stepped through, only to stop at once, frozen in shock at what he saw. He'd seen this lobby before, many times. The last time he'd been here was earlier today. As the shock wore off, Charlie bolted across the lobby to the reception desk, sure now that he was safe. No way was anyone going to do anything to him in the wide open lobby of the FBI building. He never made it to the desk, stopped short by David's urgent voice.

"Charlie? Where have you been?"

As he turned to see David stepping out of the elevator, he heard more voices behind him. Then Megan and Colby were there as well, and all the voices and questions merged into one overwhelming wall of sound. He rubbed hard at the side of his head to try to stave off the returning headache. Moments later it was all too much, and Charlie raised his voice to drown them all out.

"Stop. Just stop. Please. He's still got Don."

00-01-11-10-00


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: See first chapter for notes and disclaimers

00-01-11-10-00

Don was nursing the worsening ache in his head. The original headache had just started to fade away, and he'd stayed resting against the wall after Charlie had walked away, hoping it would ease further. Then their abductor had come back. To say he'd been upset that Charlie was missing from his spot against the wall would be an understatement.

"Where is he?" The yell had reawakened the headache, and Don's refusal to answer the question had prompted the man to backhand him. Thankfully not with Don's own gun, but even so, the blow had hurt. So now he had another headache to deal with, as well as the lingering heat in his cheek which promised that the blow was going to leave a bruise.

"I asked you a question! Where is he?"

"Haven't a clue. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

Nonchalant was easy for Don now, with Charlie out of the line of fire. Hopefully on the way to bringing back help. Don slid his right hand down behind his right leg and closed his fingers around the metal strip he'd appropriated from Charlie. It was a weapon of sorts, which was comforting. Although he didn't really have any opportunity to fight back at the moment, so he'd just have to buy time. Time would let Charlie get further away, find help or a telephone, and bring his team back to find him. All he had to do was stay alive and buy more time.

The man waved the gun in front of Don, concentration clearly suffering in the face of the unexpected situation.

"All you had to do was testify that you were wrong. That Aaron Hamilton didn't do what you said he had. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

The man was pacing now, four steps in each direction, just beyond the reach of Don's feet. Not that there was any point in making a move now. Charlie needed at least an hour, preferably more.

"I told you I wouldn't help you. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" Don's echo of the man's own words seemed to make the man even angrier.

"Think you're clever, don't you?" The gun came to rest pointing at the centre of Don's chest. "Things will work out just as well for me if you're dead."

"Not really. Charlie will make sure that they catch you."

"He never saw me. There's nothing he can tell anyone."

"It doesn't matter. They'll find you and Charlie's testimony will put you away. Killing me will only make things worse for you."

"I think that with you dead, everything will be better. There's nothing to link me to you."

"There has to be something linking you to Aaron Hamilton, or you wouldn't be here." Don sighed and shook his head. "Whatever it is, my team will find it. Is it really worth all this?"

"Yes!" The force of that one word took Don aback, and piqued his curiosity. Indulging his interest would waste more time.

"So tell me, then, what makes Aaron Hamilton so important to you? Why are you risking everything for him?"

For a moment, Don thought he wouldn't get an answer, but then the man stopped pacing and leaned back against the opposite wall of the corridor. He let the gun rest against his leg, where Don kept a close eye on it. When he spoke again, the man's voice was quiet.

"The professor's your brother, isn't he?" Don nodded. Information about Charlie was easy enough to find, and as the man already knew that much, there was no point denying it.

"Wouldn't you do anything for him? Believe in him, fight for him," and the gun was raised to point at Don again, "die for him?"

Don met the cold blue eyes calmly, even though his stomach was knotted in fear.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He's my brother."

"Exactly."

The man nodded and Don ran the details of Aaron Hamilton's file through his mind. He knew that he wasn't going to recall every detail, but he was positive that Aaron Hamilton was an only child. Yet this man was suggesting that he shared some sort of bond with Aaron Hamilton, that they were brothers of some sort.

"Aaron Hamilton's an only child."

"Shows how much you lot know." Derision laced the words. "Do you need everything spelled out for you?"

Don figured he may as well keep the man talking, so he nodded.

"Aaron and I, we're brothers. Well, half-brothers. Our mom died about eighteen months ago."

Despite his situation, Don knew exactly how the young man felt. Empathy was just below the surface of his anger, trying to find a way out.

"I'm sorry. I know how hard that is."

"I guess you do, at that." The man considered Don carefully, then went on. "After that, I had no-one. I don't know my father, he left so long ago I don't even remember him; Aaron is all I have left."

"Do you really think he'd want you to go to prison for him?"

"I'm not going to prison. Neither is he. He's not guilty."

"We have evidence."

"He told me he didn't do it."

"And you believed him?" Don couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.

"He wouldn't lie to me."

"Why not? He's facing life in prison."

"Why not? He's my brother, that's why not."

With those words, Don realised that they'd reached an impasse. If Charlie couldn't bring help in time, it was an impasse that could only end in Don's death.

00-01-11-10-00

Charlie was sitting in the chair at Don's desk, fingers idly tracing patterns on his thigh.

"Guys, what's taking so long?"

Megan, David and Colby were strapping on their Kevlar vests, fitting earpieces and mikes, and checking their weapons. Charlie couldn't believe how long it all seemed to take, even though he knew objectively that it had only been twenty minutes since he'd stepped out of the stairwell door. But he kept remembering that sound he'd heard as he left the basement, the sound of that man hitting his brother. Statistically speaking, when someone moved past their personal tipping point and started using physical violence as a solution, there was almost no chance that they'd stop at one blow. How much more had Don had to endure after Charlie left him behind?

Guilt wasn't logical. He knew that. Just as he knew that love wasn't logical. Don had acted out of love and necessity, giving Charlie a chance to get away, and he loved his brother for the sacrifice. But Don had also come up with the basics of a workable plan, and Charlie admired him even more for that. His brother could keep his head when everything was against him, and still think clearly. Their dad had been so right when he'd said that Don was good at his job. That was something Charlie intended to tell Don himself, just as soon as he could. Which brought him back to waiting for Don's team to take action.

Charlie slowly spun the chair around, pulling his left leg up to absently massage the lingering ache. Megan had tied her hair back in a messy ponytail and was settling her earpiece a little more firmly. David checked his voicemail after receiving an alert of a waiting message, then shook his head.

"Would you believe our guy actually came to work as normal today?"

"I thought the boss said he was ill?" Colby was curious.

"Yeah, he did. Then Williams showed up here and told the shift supervisor he was feeling better. He's even been joining the others for coffee breaks." David's disgust was clear. "How cold-blooded can one person be?"

"So that's where he kept disappearing to." Charlie sounded amazed at Williams' behaviour.

Megan just shook her head. Sure, it took all types to make the world, but sometimes she wondered about some people. Then she took one last look at the blueprint Colby held and gave her final orders.

"David, you come with me. Colby, you watch our backs until we get there. We'll all go in from the door Williams has been using, then split up. David and I will confront him. Colby, you head round the other way and see if you can sneak up on him from behind."

Charlie's attention wandered momentarily at hearing the man's name. He'd seen the photographs on the board and recognised the eyes, but it all still felt a little surreal, disconnected from his reality. Hard to take in that they'd been taken by a man younger than both of them, one who looked so harmless. Charlie kneaded the side of his head gently, trying to coax the headache into fading completely, then caught what Megan was saying.

"Charlie. You stay here, okay? Call your dad, tell him you're safe."

"No. Megan, I can't do that." Panic filled Charlie. He couldn't call his dad, not while Don was still being held in the basement. What if something went wrong?

"Charlie, trust me on this. Call him, okay?"

Megan was persistent, and David and Colby were nodding agreement. But Charlie wasn't giving in without a minor compromise at the very least.

"Okay, I'll call. But from the lobby, the minute you bring Don up."

"No, Charlie. You're safer here." Colby was right, Charlie knew, but he couldn't stay safe alone.

"I don't care. That's my deal. You let me come as far as the lobby and I'll stay right next to the security guard. I'll call Dad as soon as you bring Don up. Make me stay here …"

Megan was wavering, eager to get to the basement and not keen to match wits with Charlie. So Charlie played his final card.

"I need to be there, Megan. Please. Just … I need to see him as soon as possible."

He turned on the little boy charm that he knew women always responded to, coupled with pleading eyes, and watched Megan surrender.

"Okay, Charlie. But you stay behind the security desk until I personally tell you that you can move."

"Deal."

Charlie followed the team into the elevator. On the short trip down to the lobby, he confirmed again that the only weapon he'd seen was Don's gun, and that Don was handcuffed to the wall. That he'd only ever seen the one man, no partners. As he slipped in behind the security desk, Charlie suddenly remembered the impromptu block he'd created at the basement door.

"Megan." When she turned, a question in her eyes, he rushed the words out. "I blocked the basement access door on B3 with a metal pole of sorts. It might make a noise."

Megan nodded, and Charlie ducked his head sheepishly. "When you bring Don back, could you bring it too?"

"You want to keep it as a souvenir?"

Charlie couldn't help the laugh, although it was bordering on mild hysteria. "No, not actually. I'd just really like my shoelaces back."

Megan looked down at Charlie's feet, smiled and shook her head. Then started down the stairwell, David and Colby right behind her.

00-01-11-10-00

The three agents reached the third basement stairwell door in five minutes, taking care to make no noise, and check that the other doors they passed hid no unpleasant surprises.

Colby gingerly picked up Charlie's makeshift door lock and laid it down on the floor, making a mental note to come back and retrieve the laces for Charlie. Then he eased the door open and checked for their target.

"Must still be in the boiler room with Don." He kept the words quiet, keen not to alert Williams to their presence.

Megan nodded as she and David headed towards the main door. Colby followed a step behind, watching for any signs of life in the quiet corridors. Reaching the door, Megan gently eased it open. David had called Control while Colby had hunted up the blueprints of the floor, and Control had overridden the electronic lock. So there was no sound as the door swung open.

Remembering what Charlie had said about his route, Megan indicated that she would go to her left. Colby nodded towards her right, and murmured just above a whisper.

"Give me five minutes to get around."

Megan set off, David close behind her, and held position at the only corner on the route. From there, she could clearly hear Don's voice, although it wasn't loud enough to make out the words. Then she heard another voice, this time loud enough to hear the desperate anger in the words.

"He's my brother, that's why not."

She traded a quick glance with David, and noted his nod of agreement. They'd definitely found the right person, and David had been dead on the money when he'd found what looked like a family link between the two men.

Three quick bursts of static in her earpiece told her Colby had reached position on the other side of the area where Don was being held. Megan straightened and eased herself around the corner, David at her shoulder. Two steps was all it took. Don was leaning against the wall, chained to the pipe, just as Charlie had described. Megan could clearly see the injury to his left shoulder, and Don's stillness told her he was doing his best to minimise the pain. The slowly darkening bruise on the right side of his face hadn't been in the injuries Charlie mentioned, so it must have happened in the last half hour or so. One more charge to lay against Timothy Williams. It would be an impressive list for someone so young.

Williams had his back to her, pointing the gun at Don, and she stepped out behind him.

"Timothy Williams, FBI. You're under arrest. Put the gun down."

If she'd hoped logic would help her cause, she was disappointed. Williams' head shot round to look at her, then he took one step closer to Don and pointed the gun at Don's chest again.

"I don't think so."

"There's no way out. Killing a federal agent won't help you."

"Timothy," Don's voice broke in, "is this what your mother would have wanted?"

"You don't know anything about my mother." Timothy's attention was focused on Don, but he was trying to keep an eye on Megan and David as well. Megan nodded slightly to Don, just a small and innocuous motion, and saw him get her message. There was more backup nearby.

"Maybe not." Don took another deep breath, and Megan could see what the calm, conversational tone cost him. "But I do know what my mother would have thought. And mothers are mothers, aren't they?"

Timothy stood just beyond Don's feet, most of his attention fixed on Don's words. Just as he turned his head to check on Megan and David's positions, Don made his move. His right hand swung up from behind his leg, bringing with it the metal strip he'd taken from Charlie. The strip came up in a short, sharp arc, the tapered end impacting on Timothy's knee. The blow wasn't all that hard, but it clearly surprised him, and as he shifted his weight to retain his balance, the muzzle of the gun shifted away from Don.

Megan saw Colby bolt forward. The young agent came round the other corner like a linebacker, with a full tackle directly to Williams' shoulder. The young man lost his grip on the gun, which skittered away across the floor, stopped by David's foot. Colby rolled Williams over on to his front, grabbing both hands as he knelt next to the prisoner. Megan kept her aim true until Colby had fastened his handcuffs. Then she lowered her gun and smiled.

"Colby, why don't you do the honours."

"My pleasure."

With that, Colby hauled Williams to his feet by his handcuffed wrists and marched him away. His voice floated back, faintly amused. "Don't forget to check the stairwell."

Megan watched as Don dropped the metal strip, his right hand immediately moving to hold his left shoulder. The curse was loud and inventive and Megan grinned at the thought of what Alan would say if he heard it. David had already picked up Don's gun, ejected the chambered round and put the safety on.

"Don." Megan waited until he looked at her. "Was he alone? Charlie said he didn't see anyone else."

"Charlie's right. Although he did keep going away and coming back. But he was always alone here." Don's voice was strained, and he shifted slightly. He turned to glare at the cuff around his wrist. "Tell me you brought the keys."

David produced a small silver key and quickly unlocked Don's wrist, then helped Don straighten up and lean back against the solid support of the wall.

"Just hold still, okay?"

David turned and retrieved the cuff around the pipe, pocketing the handcuffs just as he had Don's gun.

"Would you believe," David still sounded like he couldn't quite take it in, echoing how Megan felt as well, "that every time that guy left you here, it was to take a coffee break?"

As one of Williams' victims, and as David's boss, Don had the right to know and comment on all the details. His silence about this one detail said it all.

David turned back towards Megan, and a faint sound alerted him to the fact that Don had pushed himself to his feet. The senior agent was standing near the wall, right hand holding his left arm against his body, but just a touch unsteady on his feet. David stepped forward to lay a hand on Don's good arm.

"Okay, now. Slow and easy. And we'll take the elevator, not the stairs."

Don nodded a grateful agreement and the trio started off. As they made their way along the corridor, Don had to ask.

"Where are we? How did you guys get here so fast?"

"We're in the basement of the FBI building." Megan went for bland, and laughed at the shock on Don's face.

"You're kidding me."

"Don't I wish." Megan shook her head. "I think we need to take another look at building security."

As they waited for the elevator, Megan suddenly shot off to the left and into the stairwell. Don raised an eyebrow when she returned with three metal strips, tied together, and waved them at David.

"What's this?"

"Charlie wanted it." Megan loved the look of confusion on Don's face, which cleared when she showed him the middle of the makeshift pole. "He needs his shoelaces back."

Don couldn't help but chuckle.

00-01-11-10-00


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: See first chapter for notes and disclaimers  
To everyone who read this story, to those who left a review or sent a message, and to all those who added this story to their favourites or followed it: many thanks for the investment of your time. I hope you enjoyed it.

00-01-11-10-00

Two hours later, Don no longer felt amused. Now he just felt tired. Exhausted. And extremely keen to get home and go to sleep, preferably for about a year. But somewhere down the line, he'd obviously done something to annoy the universe.

"Charlie, I'm going home. To sleep."

Don batted Charlie's supportive hands away, then had to take a moment to steady himself.

The FBI medic had been waiting in the lobby with Charlie when Don had arrived there, medical kit already open. Don had thought that was overkill until he realised that the man was arguing with Charlie, who was refusing to take anything for the lingering headache. Don had been about to add his voice to the medic's when Charlie spotted him. After that, he just couldn't say anything. Somehow, it just didn't seem right to yell at someone who'd just broken a lifetime's tradition of limited contact to wrap you in a gentle bear hug, so Don held his tongue. At least, until the medic started doling out painkillers in his direction as well. Then he'd insisted.

"Charlie, just take the pills." Don sighed as he leaned back in the chair. He tipped his head back and let his eyes fall shut.

"I still need to call Dad. I can't do that if I'm loopy from pain pills." Charlie kept rubbing the side of his head in the distracted fashion that Don had long since realised meant that Charlie was ignoring a headache.

"Then call him now and take the pills. Or take the pills and let Megan call him. I don't care which way you get there, but just take the pills." Don opened one eye and surveyed the stubborn set of Charlie's jaw. "Or I won't take any either."

"But your shoulder …"

"Your choice, buddy."

So he and Charlie had both taken their painkillers, and then endured an ambulance ride to the nearest hospital. Charlie hadn't been willing to let Don out of his sight, so he'd joined Don for the trip. The on-call medic had wanted an expert to reduce Don's dislocated shoulder rather than attempt the procedure alone. That hadn't been a pleasant experience, and Don still couldn't imagine how Coop's fugitive had been able to dislocate his shoulder intentionally, more than once.

A dose of muscle relaxant had followed up the painkillers. The medication had taken the edge off the ache in his shoulder, but the effects of that coupled with having his left arm in a sling, kept upsetting his balance. That unsteadiness had been the cause of Charlie refusing to let Don go back to his apartment.

"You're coming to the house. I already told Dad. He's waiting for us."

"Charlie." Don's groan was long-suffering.

"Don't even try it. Megan, David and Colby all agree with me too." Don looked behind Charlie to see all three of them ranged against him.

"Traitors."

"You bet." Megan smiled brightly and helped Charlie herd Don out to the waiting car. Don had to admit the seat was comfortable, and before he realised it, he was drifting into a light doze. He woke with a start to the gentle touch of Charlie's hand on his arm.

"Sorry. Guess I fell asleep."

"Never mind. I think you're entitled." Charlie kept a steadying hand on Don's good shoulder until he started the short walk to the front door. Don heard the door open before he'd reached the steps and moments later, his dad was alongside him. He could hear his team walking right behind him.

"Don. Charlie." The second of silence was telling, before Alan went on. "I'm really glad to see you both."

"Yeah. Glad to see you too." Don smiled back, accepting the concern as gracefully as possible.

"You know, if you didn't want lasagna for supper, you only had to say."

"No way. Charlie highly recommends it." Don fell in with the playful tone, nudging Charlie to do the same.

"He does?" Alan turned his gaze on Charlie. "Then why does he always complain when I ask him to buy the ingredients?"

"I don't com-"

"Actually, you do." Don cut off the denial. "I don't think it's the shopping, Dad. I think it's Sherilyn."

"Sherilyn? That nice young girl on the cheese counter?"

"That's the one. She's always pinching Charlie's behind and sighing longingly at him."

"Don." Charlie moaned in despair. "I told you that in confidence."

"Oops, sorry. Painkillers." Don smiled apologetically at Charlie and patted his shoulder in consolation. Alan just laughed. Don knew his dad had seen him on painkillers before and could recognise a plausible lie when he heard it. Don sighed sadly though.

"I guess the lasagna's ruined?"

"No, actually." Alan waved everyone into the house and closed the door. "When I called Megan, I figured you'd both be a while," Alan cleared his throat, "so I let it cool and decided we can have it tomorrow. Or should that be, later today?"

Alan checked his watch, and Don saw how his dad smothered a smile when Don tried to do the same and was thwarted by the sling. Don shot him a dirty look, then smiled at the joke, even if it was at his own expense. Don settled himself on the couch, resting his head back on the soft cushion with a sigh of relief. He felt Charlie sit down next to him, and gentle hands reached across his body to tuck another soft cushion behind his left shoulder. He heard the rest of the team follow his father into the kitchen, and the murmur of voices filled the air. The sound of warmth and care. Of home. He cracked one eye open to look at Charlie, and considered the serious look on his little brother's face. He smiled gently and patted Charlie's knee.

"Thanks, buddy."

00-01-11-10-00

Alan was glad that Megan and the rest of the team had followed him into the kitchen. Charlie's call, while welcome, had been less than forthcoming.

"Dad, it's me."

"Charlie? Where have you been? Where's Don?"

"It's a long story. But we're okay, well, mostly. We'll be home soon."

"What do you mean, it's a long story? And, mostly okay?"

Alan could sense there was something Charlie wasn't telling him. Neither of his sons seemed to realise that fatherhood came with the ability to know when your children were being less than honest with you.

"I'll tell you later, Dad, okay?" Charlie's voice had faded out for a second, then come back more clearly. "Look, I've got to go. Don needs me."

And Charlie had hung up, leaving Alan none the wiser. Seeing Don arrive with that bruise on his face, a bandage around one wrist and his left arm in a sling hadn't shed any light on things either.

Now he intended to get answers. Ten minutes later, now in possession of the whole story, Alan wasn't sure he'd actually needed to know all the details. But he still needed clarification on one thing.

"Megan, Don's shoulder. You said he did that to himself?"

Megan nodded, but it was David who spoke up.

"Yeah. Apparently he heard from Billy Cooper about a fugitive who can dislocate his shoulder to make it easier to escape being handcuffed. When Don needed to get closer to Charlie to untie him, well – he said it seemed like a good idea at the time."

David ran a hand over his head and hitched a shoulder, while Colby winced in sympathy and muttered, "I'll bet he's rethinking that idea right about now."

Alan met Megan's eyes and sighed. He knew Don would be willing to do the same thing again if it was necessary to keep Charlie safe. He'd always been an over-protective big brother, and that didn't change with age. And Alan would always be there to pick up the pieces, if need be. He ran a hand over his face and muttered quietly, "Boys will be boys."

That was the final straw, and they all laughed. Then Alan was serious again.

"Thank you. All of you. For what you did tonight, and for bringing them both home."

"It's our pleasure." Megan flushed slightly and smiled. "Well, not the reason. Oh, you know what I mean."

"I do." Alan patted her shoulder. "Now. It's very late – or very early – and I know none of you have had any rest tonight. Why don't you all go home, and come back tonight? We're having lasagna."

As the three protested, Alan hushed them. "No, I insist."

As they all agreed, Alan smiled warmly. These people were all so dear to him, especially now that they'd brought both his boys home to him, relatively unhurt. He shepherded the team back to the front door, past the couch where Don and Charlie were now deep in discussion, voices quiet and serious. Neither son noticed the other agents leaving, and for once, Alan let the lapse in manners slide.

When the team had piled into their cars and left, and the driveway once again stood empty, Alan quietly slipped into the house and closed the door. He locked it carefully, his attempt to keep the evils of the world at bay for one more night. He looked at the photograph of Margaret, smiled at her and nodded. Their boys still looked out for one another, just as she'd taught them. Then he tuned in to the quiet conversation behind him.

"You still haven't told me why you did this. Not really." Charlie's voice was hesitant, just like the gentle touch on the sling around Don's left arm.

"I have. I told you then, Charlie. I did what I had to." Alan saw the smile and knew how Don felt. Charlie just inspired protective instincts. "And I'd do it again."

Alan watched as Don caught Charlie's gaze, and held it until his brother nodded. The silence lingered for a few moments, then Charlie spoke again, his words thoughtful and carefully considered.

"I can understand why Timothy Williams did what he did."

"Really?" Don's astonishment echoed Alan's feelings.

"Well, yeah. Sure. I'd always believe what you told me, if it was about you."

Alan risked a glance at his two boys, glad they were still unaware of his presence near the door. So he saw the expression on Don's face just before his eldest hid his feelings again. Don was pleased and proud, but most of all, Don's love for Charlie was crystal clear.

"Even if the evidence disagreed? If logic said I had to be wrong, or guilty? What then, Charlie?"

In that moment, Alan realised something profound. Don was a good man, successful in his chosen career, well-liked and respected. But he was also still Charlie's older brother, a brother who needed to know where he stood in Charlie's world, that his brother would always be there for him. Alan wondered if Charlie knew just how important his opinion of Don was to his big brother.

"Don, you defy logic every day." Charlie's admiration and love was so clear on his face that it almost hurt Alan to see it.

"Somehow, and I can't even begin to quantify it, but somehow, for you, that works."

"That doesn't really answer my question, buddy."

Don smiled and Charlie laid a hand on Don's knee, giving a quick squeeze before letting go.

"I know." Charlie's gaze grew distant for a moment. "You know, Dad pointed out to me a while ago that I have trouble accepting that not everything in the world is rational. It's hard for me to do, to believe that."

"I know." Don's words were quiet.

"But … you defy logic every day." Charlie's voice shook a little as he admitted that there was something irrational about the world he inhabited. "And for you, so would I."

Don reached out and linked his right hand with Charlie's, pulling gently until Charlie leaned back next to his brother. Alan let himself stare openly at his boys; the two fine men he and Margaret had raised. Resting together like that, two dark heads side by side, made Alan think of the two little boys who had been completely devoted to each other.

Many things had changed over the years, some for better and others not so much, but it seemed that the bedrock of his sons' relationship stood firm. A foundation for the future. With that thought in mind, Alan stepped into the room to guide his boys upstairs.


End file.
